Paladin
by bladespark
Summary: Cecil has sworn to become a paladin, but defeating his dark past may prove harder than he had thought... An excerpt from what *was* going to be a novelization of FFIV, but this is the only part I ever did.


Final Fantasy IV Paladin By S. Park

Cecil rested for a moment on his sword, sweat running down his face within his helm. The corrupt earth demon had come all too close to killing them all, and the fact that his dark sword had hardly touched it drove home to him once again the reason why he was here. Had it not been for the three mages who accompanied him he was certain he would have failed. He looked at them as he straightened slowly and sheathed the dark blade. Tellah, the old sage, looked nearly as out of breath as Cecil was, but the twins were already arguing once again, their endless banter not the least bit dampened by the fierce battle just past. There was a smile on Cecil's usually serious face as he slid his visor up. But then his expression sobered again as he looked ahead.

They had climbed long and far, and now the mountain and the forest around it were spread below in a stunning vista.. The world from here seemed to be made of sky, the horizon low and far away, the perfect blue bowl arching overhead, seeming close enough to touch and yet at the same time infinitely huge and distant. They were at the summit. There was nowhere further to climb. And just ahead stood the shrine he'd been told of. The white pillars that framed it were untouched by age, and the central stone, strangely like a tombstone, gleamed. He thought he saw something on it, perhaps writing. Slowly he approached, the others following behind him. The twins fell silent. Even they could sense the seriousness of this moment. They had come so very far, and here before them was their goal. Would it all be for nothing, or would the light they sought be found here?

Cecil stepped close to the stone, bending to read what might be on it, but before he could a wash of sudden light spilled over him. He blinked, blinded by the brilliance, and when his eyes cleared he was no longer standing on top of the mountain.

Instead he stood in a chamber that seemed to be built from glass. Clear, crystalline cubes formed the floor, the blocks set together without mortar. Beyond them there was nothing at all, as though the chamber hung somehow in space, surrounded by black emptiness. The walls too were of glass, or perhaps crystal, and midway along the chamber a smooth glass barrier, apparently made in one seamless piece, divided it in two. The three mages had been transported with him, and all four of them craned their necks and peered around the spacious room. Cecil took a step forward, then tensed, seeing something move on the far side of the room. But it was only his reflection in the polished wall.

"Long have I awaited this-the day that you would come."

The voice, deep and resonant, seemed to come from nowhere. Cecil looked up, but the ceiling was as clear and featureless as the walls and floor. The four were alone, but the voice continued to speak all the same. "A tragedy unfolds now which pains me more than you can know," it said, its voice filled with sorrow, or perhaps regret. "To end it I will gift to you my light. Though in so doing, I condemn myself to sorrow greater still. But the hour is late. No other road remains."

A sudden shimmer of light drew Cecil's eyes to the center of the chamber, where a sword now hung, suspended in the air, before the central wall. He stepped forward, and lifted his hand, and the sword moved through the air to meet him.

His gauntleted fingers closed around the hilt...

"The time is come," said the voice, and Cecil felt it; the voice, the sword, the light, like a shock of lightning, through his entire being. "Bid farewell to your bloodstained past."

It was only an instant, he knew that. And yet it felt like forever. The shimmering light that had hung around the sword poured through him, and around him, flooding him, reaching places in his scarred heart that he had not known were there to fill. It was amazing, like nothing he'd experienced before. And with the lightening of his heart, his body was lightened too. He looked down at himself, feeling something different, and saw that his dark armor was gone, to be replaced by silver armor such as he'd never seen. Breastplate and backplate, bracers and greaves, he was armored still, but it no longer covered every inch of him. He could feel the warmth of the sword's hilt in his no-longer-gauntleted hand, and he gripped it more tightly.

His helmet had vanished entirely, letting his silver-blond hair fall about his shoulders, and for the first time in what suddenly seemed like an eternity he was not looking at the world from behind a wall of steel. And though he knew he was newly vulnerable, he realized that this strange sense of freedom, this sense of being Cecil, his face visible to the world, and not merely the nameless Dark Knight in his dark armor, was worth the risk. A thousand times worth it. How could he possibly have lived like that, blocked away from everything? And yet it was only seconds ago that he had worn the dark amour without a second thought! Had never even considered removing it, even, although he had committed himself to becoming a paladin nearly a week ago, and should have thrown it from him in that very instant!

All that flashed through his awareness in the space of a heartbeat, as the voice, the light, was still speaking. "Forsake the darkness you once embraced, or the light will find no hold. Vanquish the dark knight! You and he are one no more!"

Cecil looked up, seeing motion once again on the far side of the room. For an instant he thought it was still his reflection, but then he realized that the person who gazed back at him from the far side of the polished wall was still wearing a dark knight's armor. His eyes went wide as the dark knight stepped forward, through the wall.

"There are two of him!" Tellah, still standing where he had first appeared, looked on in shock.

"What's happening?" said Palom.

The dark knight lifted his sword.

"Cecil!" shouted Palom, "Look out!" finished Porom. But Cecil stood still. He understood what was happening, and why, even if he didn't know how it was possible.

"Stay back," he said, his voice hard with determination, "this is a fight for me and me alone. My atonement for all the sins I've wrought. My test. And one I do not mean to fail!" He lifted his new sword, feeling its weight and balance, and moved to meet the dark knight's raised blade.

The was a ringing clash of steel on steel as the two swords met, and battle was joined. They were evenly matched, of course. The dark knight's sword was a little longer, and a little heavier, while the paladin had a slight advantage of speed, but they knew the same moves, they had the same strengths, and the same weaknesses. So for a time they moved in near unison, each strike countered in the instant it was made, neither able to do anything the other didn't anticipate.

Tellah, Palom, and Porom watched anxiously as they battled back and forth across the chamber. How could either one possibly win?

The dark knight drew first blood, just a small wound across the back of the paladin's calf, where his lighter armor didn't reach. But it left him open, and Cecil took full advantage of the gap to deliver a resounding blow, the fierce joy of battle filling him as he struck the first true strike of this fight. It didn't get through the armor, of course, but Cecil knew very well how much it still hurt. He could almost feel it himself, watching the other figure stagger. He couldn't see the dark knight's face, but he could imagine the pain there, and a sudden, unexpected sympathy filled him.

It was an epiphany. The joy of battle drained out of him as he realized that, much as he wanted to win this fight, he didn't want to cause this other self pain. Pain, destruction, death... they were the heart and soul of being a dark knight, and they were the things that had eaten at him, had twisted within him like a knife, making him question everything, even his loyalty to the king he thought of as almost a father. He wanted to win this fight, but winning would twist that same knife in him once again.

His mind raced as he fought on, trying to fit this sudden understanding together. A dark knight was a bringer of pain, destruction, and death. And he had been. But it had nearly destroyed his soul. If he won this battle, and killed this dark knight, he would only be embracing what he already was. There was no light, and no change there.

But change, yes!

Cecil didn't fully block the next blow; another shallow cut as the dark sword slid along his and scored the inside of his arm the price of his divided attention, but understanding was more important. Change... Change, creation, life, those were the heart and soul of a paladin. And change was what he wanted. But not death. If he killed this dark knight... that was just death, that was a dark knight's way. Would he truly be winning this battle if he destroyed his former self? To change to something new, did the old really need to die? And if it must die, was a bloody death in battle the way? Surely a paladin might fight at need, battle was a paladin's way too, but not needless battle, needless pain. A paladin's way must be different. And then he understood what he must do.

Part of him cried out against it. All his years of training told him that he must take the offensive, must drive the battle, must win at all costs. But winning at the cost of his soul... No. So against every instinct he had, he stepped back. His blade was still raised, but only to block. He would attack no more. He knew it might kill him. If he was wrong, if the dark knight simply kept attacking, and he only blocked, eventually he would be worn down. That was inevitable. He might be dooming himself. But... that knife of darkness that twisted within him would doom himself far more surely. Better to die in body than in soul.

The dark knight's blade swept in and met his block once more. As the attack came he saw, as though fate itself had offered it, and perhaps it had, and opening where he might strike at one of the few weak points in that armor. He might win the fight with that one move. But he only blocked, the counter-stroke that would have crippled his opponent was left unstruck.

He had an instant of doubt. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he had just missed his chance to prove himself, to pass his test and become a paladin. Just an instant, and then the dark knight vanished as if he'd never been.

Cecil sank to his knees in relief. He was panting hard, as much from the emotional turmoil he'd experienced as from the physical exertion of the fight.

"Your virtue is proven," said the deep, sorrowful voice. "I will instill you now with hallowed light, formed of my very soul. May it be your strength, though it be the last of mine."

Cecil gasped. He thought that he had been filled with light when he gripped the paladin's sword, but that was nothing compared to what filled him now. It rushed through him in a flood so powerful it was beyond words. It filled him until he ached, as though his heart would burst, but if it should he would die joyfully. It was energy, and power that made every particle of his being glow and tingle with it, but it was so much more. It was not only power, it was love, and peace, and healing. It was a salve to that knife-wound within, and to a thousand other lesser hurts. It was the knowledge, and the understanding, that there was a balance in the world, and a purpose behind pain, and that even if he could not undo the wrongs he'd done, they need not stain him forever. It was change, change that swept away all that he had been, and yet left him somehow more himself than he had ever been before. And it was everything that he was, the determination and loyalty and love, all the things that had brought him to this point, purified and refined. It filled him to the brim, and he found that he was crying as he knelt on the floor.

But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, though it was mere seconds, the light faded around him, though he knew that something of it was in him now, and would never fade. He climbed to his feet as the voice spoke once more.

"My son... You must stop Golbez."

He gasped again, another shock on top of everything else. His son? But he could sense, as he sensed his own light within, that the voice and light that had spoken to him was leaving, fading away or withdrawing elsewhere.

"W-wait!" he called after it, but it was gone.


End file.
